


Still the Safest Place to Stay

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-12 00:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20162536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: John is poor company for slow winter mornings; he has never mastered the art of being still.





	Still the Safest Place to Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).

Thin grey light through the gap in the blackout curtains; outside, the raindrops and city smog turn the skies murky. Every winter grows a little crueler. The cold makes old bones brittle. Makes an ageing hunter leave his hunting grounds and swim for warmer shallows.

But John is poor company for slow winter mornings; he has never mastered the art of being still.

“I’m getting tired just looking at you,” Marcus says. Across the room, John is reorganising the knick-knacks on the bookcase. Whatever it is that he finds offensive about their current positions, Marcus doesn’t care to ask. “Is it too much to ask for you to just settle down for half an hour or so?”

“It’s past nine.”

“What are you, my mother? I know what time it is, jackass. Some of us work the night shift.”

“Routines are dangerous.”

“And yet,” Marcus says. “Mine’s gotten me to this ripe old age, and it’ll get me further still if I have anything to say about it. Put the decorations down and come back to bed. Half an hour, that’s all I’m asking. And then if you’re still twitchy you can go make me breakfast.”

John doesn’t move. He has a glass figurine in his hands, a little blue-tinted horse from a trip Marcus took some eight years ago. Reminder of another job well done. He’s something of a collector; not just of souvenirs, but of the stories behind them. Sometimes he wishes John had an interest in asking about the old times.

“You ever think about leaving?” John says abruptly. He is touchingly gentle with the frail glass horse, turning it carefully in his hands. “Retiring? You could if you wanted.”

“Yeah, I could,” Marcus agrees. He folds his hands on his stomach, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. Even under the blankets, the room has a chill. Age. It gnaws at his edges. “I’d give it a month before I got bored.”

He can feel John’s eyes on him. The quizzical look, the lack of comprehension. “You don’t get bored,” John says. “You once camped out with your rifle on a rooftop in Shanghai for two days. I’ve seen you sit for hours in the rain. Like a stone.”

“Thrill of the chase,” Marcus says, then laughs at John’s expression. “Some of us like a slow-release adrenaline kick. The waiting’s all part of the game. Haven’t you ever seen a crocodile hunt?”

“I’ve seen you,” John says. “Is there a difference?” He sets the horse down on the bookshelf. Comes to the bedside, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. With the greying light and his colourless t-shirt, he looks half a ghost. Hands as cold as the grave. Marcus pushes them off with a disgusted sound.

“Either you warm those up, or you lose them,” he says. “I’m not telling you again.”

“I thought reptiles were cold-blooded,” John says, but he lets himself be coaxed under the covers. His hands stay well clear; his mouth has all the heat Marcus is missing, and the weight of him sinks them both into the mattress, the bed creaking gently as they start to move. Like hunting beasts rolling prey in the water, they dig in teeth and nail and drown themselves in each other. Neither of them makes any sound.

Outside, the soft fall of rain on the windows.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 300bpm flash exchange. The song prompt was:  
[_Swimming with the Crocodiles_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oXgHet1cXk) \- The Veils  
(And I have a brand new favourite song, thank you!)


End file.
